


five times stanford pines was lied to (and one where he did the lying)

by mackdizzy



Series: Ford's character studies [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackdizzy/pseuds/mackdizzy
Summary: Love me, love me,Say that you love me,Fool me, fool me,Go on and fool me,Love me, love me,Pretend that you love me,Leave me, leave me,Just say that you need meAlternatively; I wrote a five things one thing fic, and I hate myself for it.
Relationships: "sort of" on both those shipping counts more info in notes, Bill Cipher/Ford Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Ford's character studies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754914
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	five times stanford pines was lied to (and one where he did the lying)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prioriteas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prioriteas/gifts).



> Took a small break from didn't flap hard enough to churn this out for its co-authors birthday!! Dear prioriteas; hope you love this one. It's got all your favorite characters, all your favorite relationship drama, all your favorite useless angst....what more could we want?
> 
> References lost legends content, but I don't think knowledge of the book is needed to understand this.
> 
> [SHIP CONTENT: billford is as-per-usual with my writing one-sided and full of BS. Fiddauthor is briefly implied but not heavily explored. THERE IS NO INCESTUAL CONTENT IN THIS FIC.]  
> [also, bill is not a triangle this time around bc i didnt feel like it so uh sue me]
> 
> [summary lyrics from Lovefool; The Cardigans]

_(the first time—the first_ _real __time, when he was newly ten years old and it could count for something—it was summer, the sun hot hot hot off the boardwalk; but ford wasn’t enjoying it much)_

“Listen, I—I’m sorry, Sixer.”

Ford didn’t want to hear it. Ford hadn’t wanted to hear it, in fact, since the cave. Fear and anger and distrust bubbled in his tiny body as he pulled his knees to his chest, laying on his side so he could look out the tiny window next to his top bunk. Look out onto the sun, and the sky, and the surf, and the—everything. Everything he wouldn’t be getting for the next three months.

“You could’ve just _told_ me.” He grumbled, unable to keep his mouth shut. “Would’ve saved us both a lot of trouble. Might’ve saved _my_ summer, at the very least.”

Quiet, then. Ford never _appreciated_ making Stanley feel guilty, per-say, but it was nice to know that his point had been gotten across. A soft thump was audible as Stanley fell back onto his own bunk, and when he spoke next, it was once again muffled. “Y’know, I meant what I said, ‘bout being the _stupid_ twin. It hurts, Poindexter. So what if I _had?_ Told Pa the truth straight up, I mean. Would I have gotten in less trouble? Would _you’ve?_ ”

_I might have,_ Ford wanted to say, but he couldn’t find it in himself to. What would he have done, had he gotten off the hook so seamlessly? What _friends_ would he have spent the summer with? What work would he have been able to do on the boat without Stanley’s help? And how much of it, really, would he have spent reading ghost stories to his brother anyway? 

“I guess I’m more mad that you had to go and lie to Pa than I am that you lied to me, Lee.”

“...Really? You ain’t mad that I lied to ya’?”

“I mean--no, not really. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Ford was well aware that he was going on this path to _forgiveness way _too soon, but he didn’t stop in his tracks either way. So what was a little white lie here and there in the art of self-preservation? Nothing, that’s what. 

“Listen.” He jumped off the top bunk, used to the familiar sting of his bare feet on the wood. “I’ll draw up some diagrams, do some calculations, see how much of everything we’re going to need to get the Stan O’War _really_ ready for _next_ summer, huh? ‘63, here we come!”

“You’re gonna spend the summer doin’ _math?”_

Ford punched his brother’s shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

_(the second time—when, at sixteen, he realized he was the type of person who could be so easily deceived—it was the dead of winter, the snow piling up on the ground and Ford’s fingers freezing off after walking all the way home after two hours of waiting outside the school, because he couldn’t wear gloves like a normal person)._

Stan was sitting on the couch, Ford noticed when he stumbled through the front door. He coughed a few times, his breath visible in the air with the visible temperature change, and wrapped his arms tight around his shoulders. His fingers stung.

“Sixer?” (The nickname was not appreciated, not now, and Ford recoiled, just slightly.) “Jesus--gimme your hands, they’re turnin’ blue!”

“You--”

Ford was about to start slinging accusations, but Stan wasn’t done. “ _Jesus,_ Poindexter, we need to go get Ma, I think this is frostbite.”

“Fantastic! Let’s go to the ER and get the extra ones amputated, then I can get a pair of gloves.”

Stan pulled back, his eyes blown wide. “Sorry, I--didn’t mean that.” Ford mumbled, blowing hot air onto his fingers, which burned at the contact. “You--you were supposed to pick me up, Stanley, you told me you were going to drive me home.”

“I _know,_ I know.” Stan grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, I was--I was gonna, but Jimmy Stevenson--” Ford huffed-- “Invited me to hang out on the field, and like--me!! Invited, you know--”

“Was Carla there?”

“Sixer--”

“No, no, I get it. I get how much you’re told I’m the reason you have no friends, your--your _freak_ of a brother, keeping you from every opportunity you were supposed to have--” 

“Woah, woah, Ford.” Stan held his hands up, placative, and then pulled him into a hug. He tensed into the gesture at first, but then relaxed, resting his head on Stanley’s shoulder and exhaling. It was better, like this. He didn’t have to think. “This was--this was my fault, not yours, ‘kay? I should’ve been up front with wanting to stay, I shouldn’t have--god, _left_ you out there.”

Ford stayed silent. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to address the swirling guilt building and churning inside him. If anyone was going to lie to him--if _Stanley_ was going to lie to him--there had to be a reason for that, after all. He must’ve deserved it.

_(The third time—the time he thought was going to be the most important, because at eighteen you think it’s the most important year of your life—it had been early spring, the flowers in the planter on their windowsill almost as red as the red Ford was seeing)._

“Can you explain what this was doing next to my broken project?”

Ford felt like he could barely breathe. Tears stung in his throat, his eyes and nose burned. The laughter of the admissions officers was playing in his head like a broken record, and he grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged to try and block it out, for only a second.

“Ho-okay. I might have accidentally been, horsing around-”

_Horsing around._ Oh, that was _rich._ All Stanley ever did was horse around, except now, except here, when he had--on _purpose,_ when he had _lied,_ when he had _cheated,_ when he had _sabotaged--_ “This was no accident, Stan; _you_ did this! You did this because you couldn't handle me going to college on my own!”

How he didn’t expect it coming from the start, he would never know. Stanley tried to stammer more excuses, and even some shit about _silver lining,_ about that _stupid_ boat, but Ford was hardly listening. 

Ford listened hard when his Pa came out.

He listened really hard. He listened to every word from his room, where he’d hidden himself to ruminate over his future. He listened, and he let the anger burn and boil inside him, and it bubbled over in one strong, terrible conclusion; No. No, no, _no._ He didn’t deserve this. He’d done nothing to deserve this. Never, in his entire life, would he think he _deserved_ being lied to again.

Ford closed the curtains, and was asleep by 8:30.

_(the fourth time—the time he “would never be more hurt in his life” because at twenty-two you are_ _vulnerable—_ _was June, and against the green grass that matched his valedictorian ribbons, with no-one in the audience, ford let go of every bond he’d ever made)._

Fiddleford shot him a thumbs up from his rickety plastic seat. Next to it, there were four empty chairs. They were marked with ribbons; _Reserved: Pines._ He felt valued, at least, for one day in his life, but for what? A set of numbers. An award he’d hardly had to work towards. A speech he stumbled through, tripping over his words half the time and crying where he shouldn’t, because every time he mentioned some sort of connection, all he could think about were those chairs.

“Um--” Four hours after the graduation ceremony, Ford was faring no better. His room was half-packed (Fiddleford was almost done, but kept shooting him sympathetic glances nonetheless). “Hi. Stanley? This is Ford. I, uh, I wrote you--that letter, about my graduation? And--I called your landlord, she’s the one who--gave me this number, but I couldn’t get up the courage to call _you,_ and she--she said you were on your way.”

He took a shaky breath, going to sit on the bed next to his roommate. Their knees brushed ever so slightly, and Ford was comforted by the gesture. “I just--I suppose I’m hurt, then, that you weren’t there. And you don’t--” He laughed, bitterly. “You don’t have to worry about seeing Ma and Pa, or anything, because they didn’t come either, nobody came, actually. Um, nobody came, and--”

_Your voicemail duration is over. Would you like to re-listen to your voicemail?_

Ford hung up the phone, then, setting it back on the receiver. 

“Didn’t send it?”

“Wasn’t worth it. He wouldn’t--would never answer me, anyway.” Stanley, this time around, hadn’t technically _lied_ to him, but--he’d said he would be there, and then he wasn’t. It sure felt the same, even if it could’ve been for any number of reasons (some of those reasons, Ford was too scared to think about). 

“Hey, ‘S okay. You’ll be out’a here real soon, yeah?”

Sealing up the suitcase full of his school documents, Ford picked up the travel itinerary laid on top. Circled in big, bright red sharpie--the state of Oregon.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

  
  


_(And the fifth time—well, actually, the fifth time didn’t have a season, because the fifth time was a lie that lasted five years)._

He felt like salvation. Bill’s words were honey-drop fresh against his skin, starlight-expressway magic. He was saying something--something about quantum processing, he thought, about the portal, he figured, but Ford wasn’t paying much attention to the words. Just the sound of His voice, the gentle curve of His waist next to his head, his curls currently spread across Bill’s lap.

“Are you _listening,_ Fordsie?”

“Nope. Repeat it?” His voice was dazed, and airy, and a bit distant. 

“Right!” Bill sounded annoyed, but just a bit. He didn’t mind. “As I was _saying,_ if the quantum turbulence exceeds--”

Bill’s freckles glowed in the dark. They danced in the shape of constellations. _One, two, three,_ Ford counted them gently under his breath. He could just go up and up into blissful infinity.

“Replaced the strawberry syrup on the magical broccoli tree of kitty fertilizer. Got that, Sixer?”

“ _Mmmm_ hm. Got it.”

Bill rolled his singular visible eye. “You’re fucking insufferable.” 

“I love You.” It was barely above a breath. He ran his arms gently along the skin of his Muse’s arms, perfect, inhuman, unblemished.

“I’m well aware!”

“No, silly, say it back.”

“Yeah, yeah. You too, Fordsie! You know it!”

  
  


(they don’t tend to say _fifth time’s the hardest,_ but somehow, it never fails to be true.)

  
  


“You okay there, Poindexter?”

“Mmhm.” Ford snaps out of his daze, looking up from the napkin he was doodling on in a hurry. Little triangles, one by one. It doesn’t surprise him. They’ve been on this boat for nearly 8 months, now, and some things are still unable to be shaken. 

“Bill?”

Stan knows the story. Or, at least, Stan knows the amount of the story that Ford is able to verbalize most days, when he’s not panicking amidst a lightning storm or moody and sullen when jazz comes on the radio. But today, it’s not. Today, it’s different, somehow. “Hardly.” He sighs, brushing a curl behind his ear (he needs a haircut. They’ll need to stop for that soon). “More than that, I mean. I’ve--I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Stanley, I think. I’ve--I’ve done some stupid things, been scornful, _lied.”_

Stan snorts. “You. You, _lied_?”

_How many times do I have to say it, Fiddleford? There’s nobody else!_

“Mmmhm.” He nods again. “A--a lot. Over the course of my first years in Gravity Falls, when--when I felt it was necessary. Which was too often. I’ve been meaning to put it right, I’ve been meaning to since I came _back,_ I just...never found the time to.”

_Bullshit, Stanford. You don’t seem to understand just how much I’m hurtin’, here._

“What’s the issue, really?”

“The issue’s with the lying, I suppose. I never really...understood it, understood its purpose. Not until I was in the middle of it.” He looks out the window, biting his bottom lip.

_Will you lay off, already, Fidds? We have a portal to build, we don’t want anything_ _extraneous_ _getting in the way._

“I let a series of lies change-- _ruin_ \--the course of my life, because I was oblivious to the signs. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. A lot. And that doesn’t mean I don’t think about the other people I’ve hurt, by doing--by doing all the same things that were done to me. 

“Is this about McGucket?”

He looks up suddenly. “How the hell did you know?”

“Cause I _know_ you, Ford. You’re always forgetting that.”

_Oh,_ _you’re_ _talking about extraneous!_ _You’re_ _talking about extraneous when you--when you run and get_ _tattoos,_ _when you whisper about your_ _love_ _and_ _devotion_ _in your sleep!_

“Okay. Tell me what to do now, then, Stanley, because I’m stuck. I’m stuck feeling like--like in the long run, I’m no better than He was.”

_When I---when I what?_

_It would just be nice to think you were talkin’ about me when you said shit like that. That’s all._

“Then call him.” There’s a pause. “McGucket, I mean. Not--Not Bill. Obviously. You still have the number, right?”

“Wh--of course I have the number, it’s--it’s written down somewhere.”

There’s another pause. Stan raises both an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth. 

“Alright, alright, I have it memorized.”

“Atta boy.” Stan grabs the receiver off the wall and holds it out. “So you said some things that weren’t true. Told a few fibs. You gotta remember the _important_ thing, here. The _important_ thing to do.”

“....Which is?”

“Stop lying to _yourself_.”

_No more distractions, Stanford. Put that_ _stupid_ _prism down and come help me with these calculations--we’ve got two weeks before it all changes!_

Ford picks up the phone.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> EVERYONE wish prioriteas a happy happy birthday!! Or just general comments would be loved, hope you all are well! Expect more DFHE soon!!!


End file.
